And we understand we're young, but fear we have no time to be alive.
We are selling our privacies, dignities, and opinions
for love we hope will save us from persistent negligence.
We've lost our will to hold on to the very things that make us human.
We've lost our independence.
We aren't strong women, but strong wo.
Our eggs gain nuclear properties as they travel through our ovaries.
Japan is phallus shaped.
Harry Truman, make no movement!
Pregnancy is a tragedy, a catastrophe, a contretemps.
Coition is debauchery, the lust for love and malcontent.
A nine year old girl is strolling through Walgreen's.
Pink nail polish on her fingernails:
it matches the pink bow, and pink tank top, and pink shorts.
Those fragile, little fingers wander boxes of condoms,
(all shapes and sizes and colors and textures)
sitting in immaculate rows
"Ribbed for your pleasure!" it beckons.
Stupid fucker got his first pubic hair and thinks that he's hot shit.
"Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he assures.
"Ribbed for your pleasure!" it beckoned, and it beckons still.
Grow up, knocked up, fucked up, and died.
This is what we've become,
and this is what we are.